Page 28 of Prince of Masks
Dray prefers muted colours, but he wouldn’t wear steel or silver. Platinum would be his choice.
So I touch my fingers to the velvet drape at the foot of two boxes, one touch, two.
The attendant’s eyes were glittering before. Now, he bites down on the insides of his cheeks to stop the grin from splitting him.
He flurries off for a moment before returning with the contracts of sale and the certificates.
I sign my name on the dotted lines, and I see the amount printed out before me.
I stifle a groan.
The timepieces are, uh,pricey. Even I grimace at the cost.
I’ll get the same value back from Dray, I remind myself. Hespendson a gift.
I set the black card down on the glass counter.
My spending is tracked on the family card. Father would kill me if I spent this sort of money on James or Courtney, or even an aristos like Landon.
But for Dray Sinclair, he won’t bat an eye.
I leave Vacheron having spent £240,000.
I don’t leave with the bags. I order for the watches to be messengered to Elcott Abbey. There’s just no chance of trusting myself, or the city krums, not to snatch the bags out of my hand in the streets of London.
So I wander the boutique-lined street with only a coffee cup in hand, the warmth of the mocha almond latte fading with each passing minute, and I wind up in the Burlington Arcade.
I stop in at ROJA.
Cologne is an appropriate gift for the likes of Eric. And the price is hefty enough to match our relationship, even if it is jilted somewhat, but the fragrances are divine.
The bottle itself is crystal, plated with gold, then it is placed in a polished white box. Cute, I think. And only £2,000, so I think Father won’t even notice.
I am not so sure how he’ll react to my buying Eric a gift. Even if it is only small.
I carry the bag back around to Bond Street, gaze sweeping from shopfront to shopfront, eyeing the displays for my next hit of inspiration.
That is what I need for Courtney.
James, he’s easy. Art supplies, costly ones he cannot afford on his own. But they are all so bulky that I need to get them messengered ahead to Elcott Abbey. Can’t be lugging a collection of canvases and easels and paints and brushes through the streets of London.
I wimp out with Courtney’s gifts.
She never likes anything I buy her, and so I just stop in at Chanel and grab a £1,000 gift card.
With our time at Bluestone coming to an end, just over six months left, Courtney will be entering the career sphere. She can’t be wearing pink gloves with yellow smiley faces all over them or marshmallow jackets. She will need to dress better. But gods forbid I pick anything out for her, she will never wear it.
The gift card gives her that freedom to choose for herself. I hope she chooses well.
Mother and Father are easiest to shop for. Not much thought or effort to put into it.
I get Mother the obvious.
Silver, diamond-encrusted figurines. I pick out a turtle and a cobra, because she does not have those animals yet. She will be pleased and add them to her collection that she boasts in the tearoom.
Father gets a limited-edition gold pen, 18kt, and Fabergé cufflinks. So that’s about a quarter of my dowry I’ve eaten through in a day.
I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it.
